


Hidden

by hit_the_books



Series: Dreams from the Bunker's SPN Writing Challenge Fics [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Artist Castiel, Bottom Castiel, Castiel's True Form, Drug Trip, Hallucinations, Homophobic John, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Top Sam, Topping from the Bottom, Tumblr Prompt, Writer Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6647959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's commencement weekend at Stanford and after a fight with John, Sam runs away to Malibu with his boyfriend Castiel and one trip leads to another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the April [SPN Writing Challenge](http://spnwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/). My prompt was: "You should know that the side effects, well, they’re pretty intense". I was partnered with [zeppelininanimpala](http://zeppelininanimpala.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Please note that I have never taken mescaline and have taken artistic liberties with how mescaline trips are meant to play out.

Rolling waves crash and furl, white and deep blue, over and over. June midday sun beats down on the ragged Porsche 911 convertible—black paint peeling—and Highway 1 stretches ahead and behind Sam and Castiel. Behind Sam and Cas is the commencement weekend they’d bailed on. Sam can’t stop seeing his father’s shocked face.

Top down, sunglasses shield their eyes. Their hair whips about as Cas drives, the shorter man’s tattoos almost completely on view as he sits in a white wife-beater and torn stone blue jeans. Sam’s black and red plaid shirt flaps about him in the air, blue t-shirt stained a little from earlier sweat, dark blue jeans scuffed by his heels. They’re wearing the only clothes they have with them, but Sam had managed to grab his notebook and favorite pen before they left.

 _“Is he really worth trashing your future for?”_ John’s words play over and Sam shakes his head at the memory. He looks over to Cas and his angel offers him a quick glance and a smile. The black ink on the man’s arms catches Sam’s eyes and he gets lost for a moment following the strange symbols on Castiel’s skin before looking back up to Cas’s lips.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Cas asks over the rush of air and roar of the engine.

“No.” Sam scoots over in his seat and wetly kisses Cas’s right cheek, leaving a patch of saliva. “But there is now.”

_“You can’t just throw this all away.”_

_“I’m not throwing anything away, I’m just doing what_ I want _to do.”_

Cas quirks his head, but keeps his eyes on the road. “I know when you’re thinking too much.”

“I hope you have plans to do something about this.”

“I do, but I need to not be driving first.”

“Good point… Hey, can I stick some music on?”

“Sure.” Just like that, no argument. Sometimes Sam has a hard time remembering that how Dean runs things isn’t how everyone else runs things.

Sam presses the power button on the stereo and its CD player comes to life. The familiar notes of a guitar being plucked in a series of high chords wrings its way through the speakers.

“Well, take me back down where cool water flows, yeah,” sings John Fogerty as “Green River” by Creedence Clearwater Revival plays.

Normally Sam would just look for a radio station, but CCR seems to fit his mood. The rockabilly rising up and lifting the sour events of the morning out onto the yawning highway behind them.

It’s another four hours until they finally reach their destination. Gabriel’s beach property in Malibu. Timber framed bungalow, white washed exterior and generous windows. It’s not huge and doesn’t back onto a private beach, but it’s theirs for as long as they need it.

Sam’s cell starts going a little crazy at it realizes its got service again and starts buzzing in his pocket as a dozen messages hit it at once. The sun won’t be setting for a few more hours and the worst of the heat is over.

“C’mon, let’s see if Gabe left any food,” Cas insists, dragging Sam out of the Porsche. Sam climbs out and follows Cas to the front door.

Once inside, Sam looks around the modest bungalow and to him it’s a mansion. Just the right level of quiet and sparsely furnished—mismatching couches and chairs, rescued and restored tables—but still homely.

“I know it’s not mu—” Cas is interrupted by Sam spinning him around in his arms and planting a kiss on his lips.

“It’s perfect,” Sam whispers against Castiel’s lips. And in comparison to his dorm of the past four years and the home his father raised him in after Dean and Sam’s mother died: the bungalow is perfect. Standing in the middle of the living room, the two of them hold each other for a long time.

The urgency of the morning, of just getting out and away from everything that was trying to claim Sam—is gone and hundreds of miles away. Sam breathes in Cas, nose pressed into the top of his head. He smells of salt and seat leather.

“Come on, kitchen,” Cas says as he unwinds from Sam and takes him by the hand.

Finding fresh pasta, tomatoes, basil and so much more— _thanks, Gabe_ —Cas cooks spaghetti for Sam. They take bowls of the sauce covered noodles and sit on a deck that faces the beach and watch the sunset as they eat. Sam feels more confident in the choice he’s made as Cas talks to him of the next project he’s going to start.

A sculpture of an angel raising a soul from hell. Says he saw it in a dream. He’s thinking of working in bronze. Sam smiles and tells him that it sounds wonderful and then Cas asks him about what he’ll write next now that his book deal is secure and he has the advance. Everything happening with Sam’s writing still felt like a dream to him, but the impossible had managed to happen: a first time writer with a hungry agent and publisher.

John and Dean know nothing about this of course. Knew why Sam had abandoned the idea of him being some lawyer. Following that path was the only reason John had allowed him to take his full ride at Stanford. He didn’t send Sam there to become some writer.

_“I didn’t send you to school so you could become a queer.”_

_“I earned my place. You didn’t help at all. And I’m not “queer”.”_

_“You’re sleeping with that, that—”_

_“His name is Castiel. And I still like girls. But I_ love _Cas.”_

_“You’re too young to know what love is!”_

“Sam?” Cas has a hand on Sam’s shoulder. The sun’s disappearing into the ocean and Cas has removed his top. Sam’s eyes track over Cas’s pecs and the strange symbols inked into his skin.

“You look—fuck, Cas.” Sam climbs off of his lounge seat and crowds over Cas, quickly bringing their lips together. He presses his lips hard and demanding against Cas’s and he responds in kind, feeling his urgency. Sam puts his thigh between Cas’s and grinds against him.

Shifting from Cas’s lips, Sam bites down on Castiel’s neck hard enough to leave a mark.

“I’ve… got something for… us to _try_ ,” Cas pants out, rubbing himself against Sam. Of course when Cas says something like that it means he has some mind altering substance that Balthazar sold him. Not that Sam had made a regular habit of taking trips while at Stanford.

“What is it?” Sam asks, kneeling between Cas’s legs.

“You should know that the side effects, well, they’re pretty intense.” Cas gives Sam a sly smile and digs in his pockets.

“What is it?” Sam repeats.

Cas pulls out a small bag that contains just over twenty button-like seeds. “Peyote.”

“Mescaline?”

Nodding, Cas sits up more and kisses Sam gently. “Yep, and by side effects I mean trip.” Cas winks. “Come on, let’s head inside for now.”

Inside the beach house, Cas puts the lights low and sits Sam on a couch. Slowly they work through half the bag each, chewing and swallowing, rubbing their tongues around the insides of their mouths.

“It’ll take a while to kick in.” Cas places a bottle of non-brand, anti-nausea medicine on the table.

“And that’s for?”

“You’ll probably wanna throw up in an hour. That’s to stop that from happening.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Why’d we have dinner straight before?”

Shrugging, Cas crawls back towards Sam on the couch and wraps his arms around him. “It’d feel worse if you had nothing.”

“And how long is a while?”

“Mmm, two hours, maybe?”

"Novak… you better have a plan for those two hours.”

In answer, Cas’s hands caress Sam’s face and bring their lips together. The two of them lay together on the couch, Sam’s legs hooked over an arm, and they kiss long and deep, bodies slotting together just right. Hands wandering and caressing, tracing each other’s contours and planes, stroking and gently tickling. Sam’s fingers unable to stay away from the network of symbols and lines crisscrossing over Castiel’s torso, arms and back.

Getting past the nausea phase they continue to make out on the couch, but almost two hours in, they’re naked and Sam’s working Cas open while Cas strokes himself. Three lubed fingers in, mouth teasing Cas’s nipples, Sam wants nothing more than to be inside his angel. Mewling in need, Cas pushes down against Sam’s fingers and then lifts up, showing Sam what he really wants.

Sam pulls his fingers out and Cas cries out in protest. “Just... getting a condom.”

Scrabbling for one, Sam gets a condom out of his discarded jeans and unwraps it. He pulls it on and then his hands return to Cas, helping him off of the couch. Sam grabs a blanket and some pillows, throwing it all down onto the hardwood floor. Getting Cas into position, ass up in the air, cock heavy between his legs, Sam appreciates the sight as he lubes up his own length.

“Sam, please...” Cas begs.

“Ssssh.” Sam kisses the base of Castiel’s spine and lines himself up. He takes his time sinking into Cas, the tightness feeling good. Cas protests against the slowness of it all, but Sam doesn’t give in. The heat welcomes Sam and he begins to thrust, gently, sweat breaking out on his back, control straining against desire.

“God, Cas, you’re beautiful!” Sam cries as he wars against his need to take, eyes drinking in the tattooed wings on Castiel’s back.

Pace increasing, hips starting to snap against Cas, Sam notices that the room is getting brighter. The red of the blanket like a fresh rose, the ink on Castiel’s back fuller, more real. Cas looks over his shoulder back at Sam. Brilliant blue eyes sparkle back at Sam.

“M—more!” Cas cries and Sam drives in and out faster. Harder. Doing his best to comply, as his angel cries and moans before him. Needing him. Needing each other.

The faster Sam goes, the more Castiel’s wings shift and the feathers ruffle. It feels perfectly natural to Sam that Cas would want to spread his wings as Sam fucks into him, melding them together. A cry from Cas makes the room shake and Sam’s ears ring, but he knows he shouldn’t stop, that Castiel wants him to worship his body. So Sam kisses any part of Cas he can reach, feathers tickling the top of his head.

Chancing a look up past Castiel’s wings, Sam sees three heads alongside Castiel’s. The head of an eagle stares straight back at Sam, and to the right side of the eagle head is a ram’s head and on the left a zebra’s. Somewhere behind all of them are the mussed up curls of Castiel’s hair.

The heads look at Sam, acceptance clear, holding no judgement.

Reaching a hand around to the front of Cas, Sam grips Cas’s substantial length and starts to stroke him, slowly at first, but Cas bucks his hips a little, demanding more from Sam’s already sensitive cock. A cry from his angel backs up this demand, the room shaking again. But Sam’s touch is not enough.

Suddenly Sam finds himself laid out on the blanket and Cas riding him. Wings beating the air, azure blue eyes lovingly looking down on Sam beside the deep browns of the zebra and the ram. The angel rides Sam, tattoos swirling along his skin. A distant chant fills the air and Sam realizes its Cas, but it’s in no language that Sam recognizes. The sounds alien, but strangely clear.

“I… love you, Castiel,” Sam pants.

And a reply is declared by Cas. Even though Sam does not understand the tongue it’s spoken in, he knows its meaning: _I love you too, Sam._

Cas leans down over Sam and brings his human mouth to Sam’s. The kiss tells Sam that he will find his way. That he will be accepted for who he is and who he loves. Licking into Sam’s mouth, Cas rubs their tongues together and Sam knows he can’t last much longer. Breathing Cas in, Sam smells ozone, heather and the crispness of winter’s first snow. The spark of release flares and Sam can’t hold back anymore.

Screaming into Castiel’s mouth, Sam comes hard and above him he feels his angel shudder, come coating Sam’s stomach. Cas breaks their kiss and kneels back, hips finally stilling. The lights flicker in the living room and Sam sees the looming shadows of six impossibly sized wings as the ram and zebra stare down at him beside Castiel’s face.

Sam looks up in awe at the beauty before him.

Their trip lasts for many more hours and Sam learns what he can from his angel. Conversation gives way to more love making. Together they tell time to stop and once satisfied, Cas curls around Sam protectively, wings sheltering them both.

When their reality reasserts itself, it’s with a buzz, as Sam’s cell vibrates its away across the living room floor. Sam sleepily fishes it off the floor answers it as sunlight streams into the room.

“Crap, finally! Sammy, where are you?” Dean half-shouts down the line.

Sam sucks in a breath and looks over to Cas who’s asleep still, head cushioned on his arm, a blanket covering his nakedness.

“Malibu,” Sam replies, stifling a yawn. He rubs at his thigh muscles, trying to drive away the ache he feels from fucking so much.

“Is… Cas with you?” Dean asks softly.

“Mm-hmm, my angel’s here.”

“Look, I’m gonna come down and—”

“Please, Dean, I’m fine. I… wanted to head down here. And anyway, I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

“What do you—”

“I know what my second book is going to be about,” Sam says calmly, looking over at Cas. “And I need to stay here to write it.”

“Wait, second boo—”

“If you need to find us, ask Gabriel where we are.” Sam hangs up and looks around the living room. Spotting his notebook and pen on a side table, Sam stands, naked, and goes to the table.

The brown leather of the notebook is worn and well loved, but Sam’s never written anything in it. Today, he would change that as the lingering memories from the peyote paint his imagination.


End file.
